


Heart Tree

by xylodemon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jon is tired of waiting, and Robb would like to keep Jon all to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://cinnatart.livejournal.com/profile)[**cinnatart**](http://cinnatart.livejournal.com/) 's _Kissing Meme 4.0_.

The heart tree is rough against Jon's back, a sudden bite between his shoulderblades. He can't breathe, has blood-red leaves brushing his neck and Robb's hand on his jaw, his fingers clumsy with the cold and chapped from the icy wind.

"Snow," Robb says, his voice throaty and low, almost a growl. His other hand finds Jon's hip, twists in the tail of Jon's weskit. "The Wall... are you sure?"

"I... yes," Jon replies, careful not to meet Robb's eyes. There plainly is no place for him in the South, and without Lord Stark Winterfell will no longer be welcoming, will no longer feel like home. "Yes."

Robb tilts his head a little, gently pressing his thumb to the well of Jon's lower lip, and Jon's closes his eyes, his mouth parting enough to wet Robb's skin, hears Robb make a soft, urgent noise. He's been waiting for this, has felt it building in the way Robb watches him on the practice yard, the way Robb hangs on his shoulder when he's had too much wine at supper, the way Robb's eyes narrow and harden whenever Theon calls Jon _bastard_ , but it's never been this close, this naked and obvious, and he's almost surprised when Robb finally leans in and noses at his jaw.

"Snow," Robb says again, quieter, his hand dipping under Jon's weskit, sliding up Jon's chest. A weirwood leaf is tangled in his hair. "Jon."

Jon kisses him, because he's tired of waiting, because he's heading for the Wall in three days time and if he doesn't do it now he never will. It's slow and tentative at first, just soft lips and their shared breaths taking shape in the frozen air between their faces, but Robb sighs into it suddenly, pressing closer, his mouth parting and his tongue slick and wet, and Jon curls his arm around Robb's waist, slides his hand into Robb's hair.

"Robb," Jon gasps, shaky and raw, slow heat curling deep in his gut. Robb mouths at Jon's neck, brushes his tongue over the skin behind Jon's ear. "Robb, we can't--"

"You talk too much," Robb says, his eyes narrow, his lips red and wet. "You're mine for three more days, and I intend to make the most of it."

Jon smiles and kisses him again.


End file.
